It's been roughly six weeks since we brought home the newest inmate to the Barking Mad Asylum. Geronimo is most assuredly cute and cuddly, of that fact you'll get no argument from me.
Oh sure, we had a lot to relearn about having a new kitten around the house in those first few weeks after bringing the little shit gorgeous darling home. But what we had forgotten from our youths (both the hubby and I were raised around kittens and cats. Our homes were never without a feline presence.), we soon recalled and we made certain adjustments to our day to day lives in those first few weeks...adjustments like looking under the furniture before walking past it to avoid having our ankles and feet attacked by sharp claws and teeth which necessitated a trip to the Emergency Room, or wearing clothing to bed to avoid having certain dangly bits being made into cat toys in the middle of the night, which also might necessitate a trip to the Emergency Room followed by visits to a plastic surgeon.
When people have asked me what it's like having a new kitten in the house I have taken to replying, "It's a lot like having a toddler with claws who has delusions of being a sniper, or a ninja, or maybe even both!"
However, it's incredibly hard to stay annoyed with such utter cuteness...
...That is, until he pulled this brilliant stunt late one night whilst the hubby was away on business.
So what did I do?
I tweeted the entire thing. Oh yes I did! If you follow me on Twitter you can go back and look through my updates and read the entire saga for yourself, unless you weren't already out there laughing your virtual asses off at me over the entire melodrama.
It took an hour and a can of tuna, but he eventually jumped down and we all lived happily ever after.
Except, this isn't a Disney fairy tale and my life doesn't roll like that.
Monday I was getting dressed and I assumed (first mistake) that
When the breast fairy visited me whilst I was a pre-teen she packed a bag and intended on staying for a while. She took a holiday when visiting me and as a result of that, I am overly well-endowed in the breast department. Add several years, 5 breast-feeding kids, severe weight gains and losses and now I am endowed with two breasts that resemble deflating weather balloons rather than symbols of womanhood and sexiness. They tend to point to the polar south at all times so having a bra of the industrial type is important. You don't just slap these kinds of bras on. There is a process involved. You bend over and wiggle the girls into the cups then wiggle some more for optimal placement. Then, when you think your nipples are pointing in the direction they should be and not towards your toes, then and only then you can stand up and fasten that sucker.
As I was bending over and wiggling the girls into place I can only decsribe what happened next like something out of a horror movie. I was quite certain that Satan himself had reached up through the depths of hell and had attached his evil claws to my boobs and was trying to pull me through the gates of the underworld by my nipples. The problem was, he wouldn't finish the job. The devil just hung by my breasts and swung back and forth. I looked down and discovered it wasn't Satan at all but a fluffy white kitten with big blue eyes and his claws were stuck to my bra and hooked into the breasts behind the thick white industrial fabric. Geronimo apparently thought that my swinging boobs were awesome toys and decided to take a swipe at them.
When I stood up, Geronimo hung on for dear life and came up with me thereby digging his claws in deeper which then caused me to scream louder than fuckall.
I must have looked insane, standing there in my bra and panties with a kitten stuck to my boobs!
Every movement caused intense pain and the whole time the damned cat just hung there, stuck on my boobs like some bizarre fur covered parasite. What was I to do?
I side-stepped towards my bed and leaned over and began the process of unhooking the claws of doom from my flesh and then my bra. Once that was taken care of, I kid you not, I filled up our lobster boiling pot and soaked my poor, assaulted boobs in ice water in order to stop the bleeding and hopefully halt the swelling that never fails to happen when that damned cat gets his claws into me. And then I prayed that no one came home and saw me leaning over the counter, clothed only in panties, with my boobs floating in the lobster pot.
P.S... I apologize for any mental anguish or trauma that the image of me soaking my boobs in the lobster pot may have caused. But believe me, my pain was greater than anything you may be suffering at the moment.
